I don’t know how to trust him fully, but I can’t find a real reason to believe he would hurt me, not even the fact that he’s a criminal.
He’s always been good to me; he’s never done anything to hurt me. Well, except when he broke my heart—that hurt like hell. But it’s not his fault that he didn’t fall for me.
Even when I threatened his life with a gun for the second time, he never dared to hurt me.
Besides, Mateo trusted him. Of all the people he could have called, he chose him. Not Julian or any of the men in his company, the ones he usually relied on.
So right now, it’s him or that strange man who ordered me off of Alfonso—that fucking bastard. I wonder what he’s doing now. Now that he knows I escaped.
I suck in a breath through clenched teeth. The grief that’s been pooling in my chest for days is shifting into somethingharder. Something with teeth. Something that claws at my chest, driving me fuming.
Someone has to pay for Mateo’s death.
But I know I can’t do that alone.I need Damiano. I need him to help me take that man down. First, he will help me figure out why they targeted me, and then he will help me avenge Mateo’s death.
I squeeze my eyes shut and inhale deeply before pulling myself up. I grab the porcelain sides of the clawfoot bathtub and carefully rise, watching the water slowly drain. I take the telephone shower and rinse my body with cold water, the sensation giving me renewed energy.
When I’m done, I grab a towel and pat my skin dry, avoiding the bruises on my body and the wounds on my feet. When I wipe the condensation off the mirror, I gasp.
Dark circles form like pillows under my eyes. Black and blue bruises map my body. My face has a healing gash that splits my left brow, and there’s a fading yellow bruise that shadows my right jaw. My cheeks are gaunt, too. I lost so much weight.
I look like I aged ten years in the past 4 days.
I banish the urge to cry when I start feeling sorry for myself. I brush my teeth, dry my hair, and when I’m done, I wrap a bathrobe around my body and look for something to wear. I walk over to Damiano's enormous walk-in closet, where I had grabbed one of his shirts earlier, and sigh when I realize I might have to wear his underwear too.
I debated calling him for help, but decided against it. I’m not ready to face him yet after that shameful tub incident.
I scan each section of the clothes rack hanging on the wall, illuminated by elegant lights. I see rows and rows of designerclothing. In the middle of the room is a big glass countertop that holds expensive watches and jewelry.
He has expensive taste; some of these designers are not even known to me. Damn, his closet is even bigger than what I had at home. When I come to the last section of the wall rack, I freeze.
Dresses. Pants. Blouses.
These are mine.
I pull out the drawer unit underneath. My underwear is there, neatly folded. I sigh in relief, but quickly wonder who took these from my closet at my house and feel a rush of blood to my face.
Shit, I hope it wasn’t him.
I pick the most comfortable choice—a white sundress with thin straps. When I’m dressed, I go back to the bedroom.
The clock on the nightstand reads 12:00 AM.
The house is quiet, and the room is chill with the autumn air. I go to the balcony and close the door to keep the cold wind out, but when I look up, the sight takes my breath away. The black velvet sky is peppered with thousands of stars. As my gaze drifts down, my jaw drops in awe.
I hadn’t noticed the beauty of this place before, too focused on adrenaline and running to see it.
It’s a fortress carved into a magnificent piece of nature, the manicured gardens spread across the land. Tall trees encircled the property, forming a living wall offering absolute privacy. The enormous villa is perched on a mountain, boasting panoramic views. There were no surrounding neighbors, only the dark, silent forest below. From this vantage point, in the far distance, I could see the sparkling line of the sea, shining under moonlight.
I grip the balcony railing and let out a slow breath through my nose.
God, I wasn’t gonna make it out there on foot.
This secluded palace seems to defy the world. It suddenly makes so much sense: the expensive taste, the inherent air of entitlement, the effortless charm. Damiano was raised in a world of power and money.
Is this why Mateo trusted him? My thoughts are interrupted by the sudden growl in my stomach. For the first time since coming here, I feel the hunger.
I limp toward the door, steadying myself against the furniture as I go. When I open it, I find the hallway dimly lit by a few wall lamps. To my right, an armchair sits with a newspaper draped over it—like someone had been keeping watch there.
